


Good Hands Built This House

by Kasey_B



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (I don't know how elf biology works and I didn't get into it), (TECHNICALLY this is all implied and not outright discussed), A brief and extremely vague reference to suicide, But I want y'all to know it's there, Canonical Character Death, Dialogue Heavy, Fantasy Husbands, Grief/Mourning, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I promise none of this stuff is actually graphic at all, M/M, Multi, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Finale, Spoilers for Balance, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Pregnancy, Trans Taako (The Adventure Zone), Vomiting, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasey_B/pseuds/Kasey_B
Summary: After Magnus is gone, Taako doesn't quite know what to do.





	Good Hands Built This House

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night between the hours of 3 and 5 AM. Please enjoy.

“Darling,” he says. “You have to get out of bed today. You have to.”

 

You lie there and stare at the wood grain of the ceiling. “Who says?”

 

He sighs. “Nobody says. Nobody’s telling you what to do, love. But I can’t move around you in this house like you’re part of the furniture, I can’t do it any longer.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” you say, and shut your eyes tight, shuddering at the dull, darkened red behind your eyelids. You feel the mattress dip beneath the weight of Kravitz settling beside you. His palm is on your face; it’s warm, and it smells of lemongrass oil. He’s been cleaning, or bathing, or gardening, one of the few.

 

“Listen, I understand. You’ve got to remember, you can visit-”

 

“Oh, _fuck_ visiting, I don’t want the place to start feeling like home, or I’ll want to just- Just get it over with. I’m so stupid, you know.”

 

“...You aren’t. You’re brilliant.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” A breath leaves your body, trembling. “I’ve made shitty decisions for my whole life, as if I'm not self-aware. I always knew I was getting close to the wrong people.”

 

“Taako, you’re doing everyone you know a great disservice by-”

 

“I set myself up to outlive, _everybody._ Everyone I know, Kravitz. I’m going to be the last person in my world for god knows how long.”

 

“I’ll be here, you know. And your sister, and-”   


“I really hate that.” You cut him off, sitting up, and with your eyes open you see him shrink back in surprise. “That you think that makes it okay. You know you guys are actually dead already? Like- You have this, divine _purpose_ , and everything, you’re already happily into your eternal ethereal post-existence, or whatever, and I'm not, and I won't be for a long fucking time, so you're not really _with_ me. You're just not gone. And everyone else will be pretty fucking soon, and then where am I, huh? What's the point?" 

 

“You inspire so many people, darling. Every day.”

 

“From a distance, yeah, and that’s great, and they deserve that from me. But you don’t, like, _get_ it. You take our family away, and that’s- That’s almost four hundred years, where a brand face is all that I am.” You pause. “I mean, fuck. Ten years without them and I- I was half of a person, at best. I can’t _imagine_ four hundred.”

 

There is a clenched, quiet moment. Then he says, “Please, Taako. Come outside for a minute. The sun is setting.” He pulls over a blanket from the foot of the bed and sweeps it gently over your shoulders.

 

So you come outside. When you reach the stairs you feel nauseous, ready to turn around, the corners of your eyes stinging, but Kravitz keeps his steady hand at the small of your back and you breathe through it. You make it all the way down. Through the hallway you keep your eyes fixed forward, determined not to let them catch on a single new reminder of your loss, of the light the world is now lacking. No pictures. No tapestries. No carvings. Just forward motion.

 

He opens the door for you gently; you loved him once for the careful, reverent way he treats even the space around you. Right now you love him for the hand on your back. Outside, the breeze is chilly, and you’re grateful for the blanket. There is birdsong coming from somewhere close, and the light is blue and red and orange. The garden is preparing for fall. Kravitz helps you sit on the steps of the porch. After a moment in the crisp, colorful air, he says, “I know you miss him, but we can’t go on like this.”

 

“You keep saying that. What if we just do, anyway?”

 

“I’m your husband, I’m not going to let that happen.”

 

“So was-”

 

“I know.”

 

“I loved him.”

  
  
“I know. I loved him too.” He pulls you against him and presses his lips to your temple. “He’s happy now. Gods, he’s so happy.”

 

“And I’m not.” You wrestle back tears because you can’t survive any more of them today. “Good for him, but I’m fucking miserable. How are we supposed to even _do_ this? When no one comes back? It’s not- I’ll never get used to it because I was _already_ used to it, you know? And now it’s a different set of rules, _again._ ” You close your eyes against the sunset, fading into pink. “The last time he tried dying I wasn’t having it so fuckin’ hard I saved his dumb ass myself. You remember that.” With one finger, you jab his chest and feel him chuckle, warm and deep with a slight bitterness. “I do love you,” he says. You never know what to do when he responds like this.

 

“At least you won’t ever have to do that for me,” he points out after a stretch of silence. You snort. “Yeah, I’ve exhausted all my energy for rescuing husbands from the clutches of death, so like, if I ever need to save you from yourself, you’re kinda fucked, babe.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” And suddenly you’re smiling, and you don’t know how it found its way onto your face. It feels hot, even against the chill of the outdoor air, and your eyes sting, and you open them, and the sky is flooded with a soft, nurturing violet. Something twists in your chest, and then something else turns over in your gut, and then you’re pushing Kravitz away so that you can vomit off the edge of the steps, a sick hot rush up your throat and a burning in your nose. He scrambles over, reaches to pull your hair back, and you can feel tears track their way down your face. It’s fresh, somehow, to have tears of pure physical discomfort instead of grief. You’re almost grateful, until you heave again.

 

Soon you start coming up dry, and then you’re hacking strings of spit into the grass, your body shaking and alive. Kravitz presses a monogrammed handkerchief into your hands, and you recognize the careful stitching of large, callused fingers whose knuckles you used to kiss deep in the night. You hold it hard and crumpled to your mouth while he helps you stand. The two of you rush and stumble back inside.

 

Later, after you’ve burned leaves, thrown bones, pricked your finger onto a sliver of wood and chewed a whole handful of flower petals, it’s undeniable, and you’re full of joy, and you are furious. Kravitz breathes fast and shallow even though he doesn’t have to. “Are you sure?” He asks. You are sure.

His hands flutter in front of you with agitation. “When was the last time we-” he can’t finish, probably remembers, and you swallow your shame like something thick and rubbery when you reply. “It was right after. Right when you got back from... dropping him off.” It was dark and wet; you remember making noises you didn't think you could make. You remember marks on Kravitz's back from your nails.

 

“Well, then it’s been about… Okay… All right. Then it has to be.” Kravitz counts days on his fingers and chews on his fingernails and then throws his arms around you. “We’ll do whatever you want. Just tell me, okay? It’s completely up to you, I- I don’t even know how this _works._ ” Or _if_ it will work, neither of you dare to add, because Kravitz isn’t quite alive, isn’t quite like anything else that walks this earth. You, however, you are _certainly_ alive, and you’ve got another life inside you, apparently.

 

In a spasm, your hand flies out to knock the bones off the kitchen table, sending them spinning and scattered across the cedar hardwood floor that your carpenter built for you. “He’s never even going to _see_ it,” you wail, and a few angry tears squeeze out past your eyelids clamped shut. They drip off of your chin onto your clenched fists, and then Kravitz is wiping them away, cradling your face in both palms. “I’ll tell him everything- Or _you_ can tell him, I keep- Taako. Darling, you’ve gone too far ahead. You don’t have to do this by yourself. Magnus is- He’s resting, but everyone else is still here.”

 

You stare at his moving lips and force yourself to inhale, drawing air into your lungs even as your chest burns and trembles. He’s right, of course. Of course, he’s right, and you hate it, and you love him so fiercely. “Taako,” he says, and it’s like a proud pillar grounded on a hilltop, the way he says your name. “What do you want to do, love. What’s next.”

 

“I want- I want Lup and Barry here, they’re- You need backup, and I need to- I need to delegate some fucking tasks,” you say, feeling more and more corporeal with each word. “I want some consultation before I even think about making a call.”

 

“Okay,” Kravitz replies simply, and within a few minutes, they’re in your kitchen, and Lup has her arms around you. There are no more tears left for the time being, so you just breathe, and it’s deep and steady with her there. “We’re gonna figure this out,” she says, and you believe her.

 

There are books and long cries and long calls, spells and sighs and sacrifices throughout the next few months. Then there are swells and struggles, growth and kicks and squirming. There are people to hold your hands, and steady hands at the small of your back. There is fragility, and force within you, and your spine and shoulders burn with the effort of carrying a weight in your heart and a life in your belly.

 

When it’s all over and it’s all starting, when you're holding a child in your arms at last, there is so much at once. You think, _Everyone is going to love this beautiful baby_ , and you think, _It’s so unfair he isn’t here,_ and you think, _What am I going to do?_

 

You don’t know what to do any more than you ever did, but now, at least, you have an idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! 
> 
> I hope nobody interprets this as me painting childbirth to be this, ultimate healing experience, or the only way for a person to provide themselves with a sense of purpose. Genuinely, the entire pregnancy component of the story was not part of my original idea when I sat down. This entire story was just something I did instead of crying when I wanted to; things progressed naturally as I wrote, and I just hope it was a good ride. 
> 
> Please comment if you can! I love feedback and conversation. <3


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